I like knees that do not knock,
that do not stay...

I like bikes with sticks
caught in their spokes...

He picks a stone to skip
across the water's silver sheen...

A spore contorted
on the floor, the porous...

Come, let's be dignitaries of Spring.
Let's toss innumerable red bottles...

I blink.
Iridescence coats my inner eyelid...

Seagull takes the wind:
an elegant, arcing lilt...

It's the blue face,
that's slick...

Let's go back to the rocks again,
where the wind is thick and the foam is slick...

Pill, compel,
Parnell, and yokes...

I clump you with
the thickly spoken...

She has rolls of insecurity, heavy, languid steps
a confident smile, smartly dressed in red...